The Hollow Bastion
by Crystal Rose of Pollux
Summary: Post-series. The Heroes reunite a year after the war's end to solve the mystery of the vanished fortune of LeBeau's grandfather as they evade greedy treasure hunters and as long-lost secrets beneath the Parisian streets begin to reveal themselves...
1. Old Friends You Just Met

_Author's Note: the characters are not mine, but the story is. I love writing for the mystery genre, and so I'm going to take a try and apply that to the Hogan's Heroes fandom. I've twisted canon very slightly by saying that LeBeau is a descendant of Raoul de Chagny; I'm hoping that nobody minds too much… but I did it to give a premise to this fic (plus, I enjoy referencing other fandoms in my fics)._

* * *

It was the middle of the dinner rush at his restaurant, and _chef de cuisine_ Louis LeBeau now exited the kitchen to briefly check how things were going. After a brief conversation with some of the waiters, he took a glance to the small stage in the restaurant, where one of his closest friends, Peter Newkirk, was entertaining the patrons with a magic act, which was nearing its finale.

"And 'ere we 'ave, ladies and gents, an ordinary 'andkerchief," he said, showing the fabric to the patrons, who found his Cockney accent an amusing addition to the show. "And now I shall fold the 'andkerchief, like so… once, twice, and three times. I'll grab this corner 'ere, and… _voila_!"

He waved the handkerchief open, and a pair of white doves flew out from within it. The audience murmured, impressed, and applauded. Newkirk gave them all one of his winning smiles as he bowed and retreated from the stage, taking the doves with him.

LeBeau walked backstage to see Newkirk putting the doves back on their perch.

"You've done it again…" he said, with a grin.

"Yeah, it gets 'em every time—even the ones who've already seen it," Newkirk replied, proudly. "LeBeau, I think these two doves 'ave earned an 'elping of crumbs from one of your pastries."

"You have all earned your dinner," LeBeau assured him.

"Ta," Newkirk grinned. "Because this magician is starving enough to make the food disappear before your very eyes."

LeBeau shook his head in amusement as they headed back to the dining area. Newkirk paused at one empty table that had just been vacated.

"Now will you look at this…?" he said, shaking his head. "They left 'alf a bottle of wine untouched. That's a shameful waste…"

He moved to grab the bottle, but LeBeau beat him to it.

"Not during working hours…" he chided him.

"Aw… Me working 'ours are done—that was the last show of the night, that was…"

"Discipline, _mon ami_, discipline…"

"You act like we're still in the army…!" Newkirk protested, making another grab for the bottle.

LeBeau rolled his eyes, but decided that the world wouldn't end if Newkirk had the wine he so desired.

"I need to get back to the kitchens; you take it easy," he said, retreating.

"No need to tell me to do that," Newkirk assured him, gleefully inspecting the bottle. "Good year…" he murmured, appreciatively. "Whoever left 'alf of this is a fool…!"

As Newkirk poured himself a glass of wine, the _maitre d'hotel_, the head waiter, took notice of the four Americans entering the restaurant. He cast a look at this odd crew, his eyebrows arching at one of them—the youngest one—who was holding an odd-looking potted plant.

"_Bon soir_," said one of the older men. He was wearing an Air Force jacket, a medal gleaming from its chest pocket. "We happen to be good friends with the head chef of this restaurant--"

"Pardon my impudence, Monsieur," said the _maitre d'hotel_. "But that is what they all say."

"What? He's serious!" said the young man with the plant. "We're not joshing you—you can go and ask him!"

The head waiter was not impressed.

"Can't really blame him for not believing us," said one of the Americans—a tall, mustachioed man. "We don't exactly look like we'd know a great French chef…"

The man in the Air Force jacket smirked. "Point taken, Kinch." He turned back to the head waiter. "Take us to whatever table you desire."

"But, Colonel Hogan…!" the young man with the plant protested.

The fourth man, who had been silent this whole time, now spoke. "Let it go, Carter…"

"But we came here to see LeBeau," said Carter, disappointed. "What was the point in coming here if we can't even see him…?"

"We can stay as long as we have to…" the man replied. "Isn't that right, Colonel?"

"Right, Baker," Hogan replied. He smirked again. "But the war's over—you don't have to keep calling me 'Colonel.'"

"Force of habit, Colonel," said Baker. He blinked as he caught himself, prompting Kinch to shake his head in amusement.

"This way, please…" said the head waiter, leading them to a table near Newkirk.

It was Carter who was the first to notice, his eyes widening upon seeing his British friend for the first time in nearly a year.

"Newkirk!" he exclaimed. "It's Newkirk!"

Newkirk, who had been enjoying the smell of the wine, had just raised the glass to his lips when he heard Carter's exclamation. He froze, staring at the wine, suspiciously.

_Blimey, this is some strong stuff; no wonder it wasn't finished…! I ain't even drunk it yet, and I'm already hearing things! I coulda sworn that was Carter's voice… _

"Newkirk!" Hogan said, as he led the way to his table, much to the head waiter's annoyance. "We read in your letters that you were working with LeBeau…"

"Yeah, but we weren't sure if you were going to be back in London by the time we got here," Carter added.

Newkirk stood up, gawking at his old friends. When the realization set in that they were, in fact, here, and that he wasn't seeing things, he grinned broadly, shaking each of their hands.

"Ah, it's great to see you lot again!" he said, his joy knowing no bounds. "When LeBeau finds out that you're 'ere, 'e'll flip!"

"That's just it," said Carter. He indicated the head waiter. "He doesn't believe that we're his friends!"

Newkirk waved his hand in dismissal. "Not to worry, old chum." He crossed to the kitchen door and opened it. "Oi, Louis! Get out 'ere!" He turned back to the others with a mischievous grin. "Give 'im a minute; 'e can't stand it when I do that, so 'e'll want to give me a talking to…"

"Still living dangerously, I see…" said Kinch, as the head waiter continued to glare at all of them, his arms crossed.

"If you want to call it that," said Newkirk, shrugging his shoulders. "Nearly a year, and I'm still finding difficult to get used to all the quiet…" He trailed off, finally noticing the plant that Carter was holding. His eyebrows arched, silently asking Carter what on earth he was doing with it.

"Oh, this?" asked Carter, reading his friend's look. "It's a Venus flytrap! I met up with my old girl, Mary Jane, when I got back, and it turned out that she broke up with that air raid warden! So, she and I going to start over; she even bought this as a gift for me! I didn't want anything to happen to it while I was over here, so I got special permission from customs to bring it with me…"

Hogan, Kinch, and Baker all looked away, too close to cracking up at Newkirk's deadpan expression.

"If she really did buy you that plant, then you two _are_ a match made in 'eaven…" he said at last.

"Gosh, you really think so?" Carter gushed.

Newkirk replied him with a fervent nod.

"Uh-oh…" said Baker, as the kitchen doors reopened. "Annoyed head chef at 2:00…"

"Newkirk…" said LeBeau, striding over to them. "You'd better have a good reason--" He stopped in his tracks as his gaze fell upon his closest friends. "_Mes amis_!" he exclaimed, running forward to greet them.

Hogan gave a smug "I told you so…" look to the head waiter, who scowled and retreated to his post.

"Was this good enough of a reason for you…?" Newkirk asked LeBeau.

The chef just grinned in response, ushering his friends to the most luxurious of the tables, pressing menus into their hands.

"Order whatever you want; it's on me," he said.

"Well, that's awfully generous of you…" said Hogan. "But I guess you can afford to be quite generous from now on, can't you?"

"…Pardon?" LeBeau asked, slightly confused.

"Yeah, that's right…" said Newkirk. "Carter, you were saying you didn't know if I'd be 'ere or in London—what did you mean by that? You know I work 'ere…"

The Americans exchanged glances.

"Guess they're really keeping it under wraps…" Kinch commented.

"…_Qu'est-ce que c'est_…?" LeBeau asked. "And what does it have to do with me?"

Hogan pulled an article from his jacket pocket.

"This was in the _New York Times_…" he said, handing it to the two Europeans. "They were cleaning up some old vaults in a bank here in Paris. They found the last will and testament of the Viscount de Chagny. You're family, aren't you?"

LeBeau's eyes widened. "_Grand-père_…" he breathed. But then a scowl crossed his face as he looked at the date on the article. "This article is from a fortnight ago! Why have they not informed my family!? Not even my poor mother is aware, and she is his first-born daughter! My aunt and cousins have said nothing about it—nor any of my siblings! And there was been no mention in the papers here!"

Newkirk frowned, too. "You think they might be trying to line their own greedy pockets…?"

"Sure sounds that way…" said Baker, also not pleased with the developments.

"Let's not be too quick to jump to conclusions…" said Hogan, ever the voice of reason. "It could be that they just want to make sure that everything is in order before they break the news to the family."

"_Mon Colonel_, you do not understand what this money would mean to my family!" said LeBeau, his emotions in a mix. "_Grand-père_ passed away just before the enemy invaded Paris; they arrived, and everything—his money, his assets—vanished while they were here! They _ruined_ his manor house—it was the house I would spend my weekends in as a child with my siblings and cousins." He sighed, trying to calm down. "If the bank has found _Grand-père_'s money, then it rightfully belongs to me and my family—and my share would be what I need to buy this property in full, without ever having to pay the landlord ever again! That scoundrel keeps trying to raise the rent rates every couple of months; he makes more money every year—and it's all my money… just like how a share of that inheritance is rightfully mine!" He angrily cursed in his own tongue.

"It's really strange that they didn't even bother to tell you, even after two weeks…" said Carter. "There's definitely something funny going on…"

"_Oui_, but I am not laughing…" said LeBeau, crossing his arms.

"So much for the purpose of our trip…" sighed Kinch. "We came here to see how you were doing with your inheritance."

Hogan thought for a moment. "Then we'll have a new reason for being here—to see justice served to LeBeau and his family."

Newkirk looked up. He recognized Hogan's tone of voice—it was the way he used to speak just before a mission.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying, Colonel?" he asked.

"I'm saying that we're getting to the bottom of this," Hogan said. "Are we all in on this, Men?"

"Of course," said Kinch, with a nod.

"We wouldn't miss it!" said Baker, with a grin.

"You bet your life I'm in!" Carter exclaimed.

"Klink would 'ave to lock me up in the cooler to keep me away," said Newkirk. "And even then I'd find a way out and join you. …Of course, the war's over and it would therefore be impossible for him to do that, but I reckon you know what I mean…"

"So that's how it stands," Hogan said. "We'll head over to that bank as soon as closing time rolls around, and see if we can find answers to some questions." He glanced at the Frenchman. "Is that alright with you, LeBeau?"

"_Mes amis_…" LeBeau said, overcome with emotion. "This means so much to me and my family. On behalf of them, and on behalf of _Grand-père_, I thank you all. For what you are going to do, I swear you shall be treated to all you can eat for free whenever you come here! I'll go bring you the _soupe du jour_… it's bouillabaisse tonight!"

"LeBeau…" said Hogan, not wanting to get his hopes too high. "I think it only fair to warn you that there could be one very good reason why they haven't contacted you—they may not have found the money."

LeBeau gave a wan smile.

"I know, Colonel," he said. "But after all of the missions we've succeeded in completing during the war, I think our chances of fulfilling _Grand-père_'s wishes are much better as a team than if I was going to try myself."

Newkirk gave a nod to his friend. "That's the spirit, Louis."

"Yeah," agreed Carter. "Oh, and LeBeau… do you think you can bring a couple of small escargots for my Venus flytrap? Not too well-done, though; I think they'd prefer them raw, actually…"

"_Certainement_," LeBeau replied. He headed towards the kitchen before he paused, fully processing Carter's words. He turned back, a confused look on his face. "Did I…?"

Newkirk answered him with a nod. "Yeah, you 'eard right…"

LeBeau blinked, and then returned the nod. "Just checking…"

But he chuckled to himself as he headed back to the kitchens. The possibility of finding his inheritance was good news, but there were other things on his mind. His friends were here, and it would soon be just like old times again.

That was the most important thing.


	2. Heir Apparent

Author's Note: I did a little research, and I honestly believe that the character mentioned later in this chapter wouldn't have been charged with much after the war, for the reasons that Hogan later explains.

* * *

The rest of the evening passed by with LeBeau tending to his customers while finding whatever opportunities he could to converse with his friends. Carter was taking great enjoyment in feeding the escargots to the Venus flytrap. Newkirk came up with at least two dozen comments he could have made about the plant, only to decide in the end that he may as well keep his mouth shut, even though Carter was taking it with them to the bank as they left after closing time.

They managed to arrive at the bank a few minutes before it was to close.

"Pardon, Mademoiselle," said LeBeau to the teller. "My friends and I wish to see the manager; it is of utmost importance."

The teller took a glance at the unlikely crew, not so sure that they could be trusted.

"It is almost closing time, Monsieur; are you sure it cannot wait?" she asked.

"Sorry, Love," said Newkirk, trying to see if he could charm her into letting them see the bank manager. "We really can't wait." He leaned against the counter of the teller window and smiled. "Surely a girl as lovely as you can pull some strings?"

"Monsieur, I don't think--"

"And maybe afterwards, you can join me for a late dinner on the Seine?" Newkirk added.

The woman's eyes flashed, and she reached her hand out of the teller window and slapped him. "How dare you!? I am a married woman!"

Newkirk winced, retreating, now noticing the ring on her finger. "Maybe we should come back tomorrow…"

"If you'll excuse Mr. Casanova over here," said Hogan. "We're here to help our friend LeBeau claim his inheritance."

"Inheritance?" she replied, glancing at LeBeau. "This isn't a legal firm, Monsieur."

"That well may be, but you have the will," Hogan countered, calmly. "Which is why we'd like to see the manager."

"Ah," the teller said, as though he suddenly understood. "I see." She picked up the telephone. "Monsieur Lefebvre? There are some people here to see you; they say it's an urgent matter." She rolled her eyes. "It's another man claiming to be an heir of the Vicomte de Chagny."

LeBeau's mouth dropped open in affronted shock. "_Claiming_!?" he repeated.

"Easy, Louis," Kinch said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

But Hogan was stunned for a different reason. If the news of finding the will hadn't been published in any of the French papers, how was it that false heirs were showing up already?

"Well, Monsieur, this one actually is French," the teller said over the phone. "_Oui_." She hung up the phone and turned back to the Heroes. "You may see him in his office."

LeBeau and Newkirk both glared at the lady (Newkirk still massaging the side of his face) and headed in the direction she pointed out without another word. But Hogan paused for a moment as the others followed the two Europeans.

"What exactly did you mean when you said that LeBeau was 'actually French'?"

"None of the major papers in France have published the finding of the will, at Monsieur Lefebvre's request, but the news has been spread in other nations," she said. "You clearly heard about it in America and came to tell your friend. People have been coming here or calling in for the past two weeks from all over Europe and America, claiming to have enough Chagny blood in them to lay a claim to the fortune. Just yesterday, we had a German man in here—a general in the last war, it seems—claiming that he had rights to the fortune."

"Unbelievable," Hogan mused. But then his brow furrowed. "A German general, you say? Did you happen to get the man's name?"

"No, Monsieur," she replied. "But he was a big, portly man, with a nasal voice."

Hogan's eyes narrowed, half of him surprised, but half of him not surprised at all. "Burkhalter," he muttered to himself. "I should have known."

Meanwhile, with Lefebvre, the other Heroes were explaining the situation to him, with LeBeau making his position on the whole ordeal quite clear.

"Monsieur LeBeau," said the bank manager, after hearing the chef's complaints about not being informed about the will. "Please try to understand my position. It was not my intent to keep the money away from the Vicomte's rightful heirs."

"Then please enlighten me as to why I am standing here without having seen my family receive their inheritance!" LeBeau countered.

"If you want confirmation that he is one of the rightful heirs, we can vouch for him," said Baker.

"And if you need to draw my blood and test it to prove the point, then do so!" LeBeau added. "Just get this over with!"

"I thought you can't stand the sight of blood," Carter said, confused.

"I never said I'd look while they were taking it," LeBeau murmured. He turned back to Lefebvre. "I will follow through with the necessary procedures. But can you just tell me why we have not heard a word about this?"

"It is true that we found the will," said Lefebvre. "But that is all we found. None of the money or items mentioned in the will are here."

"You have found nothing?" LeBeau asked, only vaguely aware of Newkirk placing a hand on his shoulder. No one needed to voice what they were worrying—that the money had been pillaged when Paris had been invaded.

"It's just like what Colonel Hogan said," said Carter, quietly. He blinked as he realized that the Colonel wasn't even present. "Hey, where'd he go?"

"Right here," Hogan replied, joining them. "What's the verdict?"

"They have the will, but none of the assets," Kinch informed him.

"I had a feeling that might've been it," Hogan sighed. But something didn't add up. If the money had vanished during the war, why was Burkhalter here looking for it now?

"Rotten luck, that is," Newkirk muttered. "We're all sorry for you, Louis."

LeBeau tried to put on a brave smile. "_C'est le vie_. Thank you for trying, _mes amis_."

Hogan was still pondering over Burkhalter's arrival as they exited.

"If you ask me, they should just put out in the paper that they only 'ave the will," said Newkirk. "That'd stop false 'opes from our side and those greedy treasure seekers."

"But what if the treasure seekers know more than they're letting on?" Hogan said.

"What do you mean, _mon Colonel_?" asked LeBeau, looking up. "You were the one who told me not to get my hopes up."

"That was before I picked up a little tidbit of information from Newkirk's new lady friend," Hogan said, ignoring the derisive grunt from the Englishman. "Now I'm saying not to throw in the towel just yet."

"Why the sudden change of heart?" asked Baker.

"I found out the identity of one of the treasure hunters," he replied. "And he's no stranger to us. General Burkhalter was here yesterday."

"Burkhalter!?" LeBeau practically yelled. "That fat fool was trying to get my inheritance!?"

"That's right," said Hogan. "But it's actually a good sign."

"You 'ave a weird definition of what's a good sign," Newkirk countered.

"No, think about it," the Colonel said. "Why would Burkhalter be looking around here for the money if it was already taken during the war? LeBeau, you said that the house was turned upside-down. They would have taken everything when they did that, wouldn't they?"

LeBeau blinked, but then nodded.

"And with Burkhalter being a general, he would've heard about exactly what was taken and when," Kinch finished. "I get it."

"Well, that's all well and good," said Carter. "So where's the money?"

"I'm willing to bet that it's still here in Paris somewhere," Hogan said. "This Viscount seems like an intelligent man; I'm sure he had the fortune hidden away the second he got wind of the invasion."

LeBeau pondered over those words. "Then we need to find out where it is before Burkhalter does. But how is Burkhalter here, anyway? Wouldn't he have been arrested after the war?"

"I doubt he would've been charged with much," Hogan said. "Aside from that commanding he did on the Russian Front, he was in charge of the POW camps. I remember that Klink wasn't even charged at all, but there wasn't anything to charge him with. You have to admit that we were treated very well; they can't accuse them of going against the Geneva Accords."

"Treated well?" Carter repeated. "We could've turned Stalag 13 into the next hotel chain!"

"Thank you, Carter," said Hogan, with a roll of his eyes. "But it illustrates my point. Burkhalter probably just got a few slaps on the wrist for the times he tried to line his own pockets, and was sent home."

"And now 'e's running around 'ere, trying to claim what doesn't belong to 'im?" Newkirk asked. "I don't call that reformed behavior."

"Which is why we need to find that fortune before he does, or we never will see it again," Hogan finished. "LeBeau, I think your grandfather's house is a good place to start looking. He may have hidden a clue to point you towards where he hid the money."

"My mother has the key," he replied. He shut his eyes for a moment, biting back a mounting rage. "They tried to force her into giving it to them; she told me in one of her letters." He cursed in his own tongue again. "They threatened her, but in the end decided that she was not worth their time, and they broke the doors in themselves."

"Greed brings out the worst in people," muttered Baker.

"_Oui_," LeBeau replied, disgusted. "Thank goodness she wasn't hurt. We could go and see her now; she has already met Newkirk, but I am sure that she would love to meet the rest of you."

* * *

Giselle LeBeau was a gentle, sentimental woman. The once-golden hair she had inherited from her father was now going gray, and the musical voice that she had inherited from her mother—and subsequently passed on to her son—was now slightly quivery with age. But her sincere eyes had not changed since her childhood, and when her son arrived with his friends in tow, she greeted them all warmly.

"It is always a pleasure to see you again, _Pierre_," she said to Newkirk. She then looked to the others. "Louis has told me so much about you," she said. "I thank you all for making his time in that prison so bearable." She did not know all of the details of their underground efforts, of course; writing about those exploits in a letter home would have been too risky and was forbidden. But LeBeau had written a lot about the friends he had made. And when the war had ended and he had gone home, he did tell her that he had been helping in the underground, albeit glossing over most of the details (he certainly wasn't willing to confess to her about the times he had been in dire peril, such as when he had nearly suffocated in Klink's safe or when he had been slightly wounded on a mission).

"It was our pleasure," Hogan assured her. "Your son helped us out of a lot of jams during the war. Now we're hoping to help his entire family out."

Giselle looked confused for a moment, and LeBeau quickly explained to her, in French, about the developments in this case.

"I see," she said, her expression betraying her disappointment at the news of the fortune still remaining lost. "I am not sure of hiding places in the house itself that my father would have used; we had a family acquaintance—a friend of my mother's—who knew more about passageways and that sort of thing. But Papa could have easily picked up some tricks from him. I learned this one myself." She crossed to a dresser, opened one of the drawers and removed a false bottom from it, drawing the old key from its hiding place. She handed the key to her son. "I know you wish to recover the lost money, but please do not do anything dangerous."

Newkirk rolled his eyes slightly. If she only knew about some of the things they had done during the war, she would be singing a different tune. But he wasn't one to talk; he hadn't exactly told all to his family, even though his sister Mavis often asked to hear about some tales of intrigue.

LeBeau kissed his mother on the cheek. "We'll be careful, _Mère_," he promised. "We've handled worse."

"Yeah, that's right," agreed Carter. "There was this one time when we had to get some fake diamonds—ow!" He was cut off as Newkirk gave him a slight kick on the ankle to keep him quiet.

But Giselle smiled slightly. "You must be Monsieur Carter," she said.

"Hey, that's right!" he said, impressed. "How'd you ever guess? Do you really have ESP in your family, after all?"

"No, Carter; you're just the type of person that everyone can recognize," LeBeau said, biting back a smirk.

Carter just shrugged in response.

"Now that we have the key, we may as well head over to the property," said Hogan. "We'd best do this under cover of night; we don't want to attract anyone's attention, but especially not Burkhalter's."

"So we'll grab some extra flashlights and head on over there," said Kinch. "Even if the lights are working, it'd be foolish to use them."

"Exactly," the Colonel agreed.

"I have some extra flashlights at the restaurant for my employees in event of a power failure," said LeBeau. "We can stop off there and head straight for the place; I know a shortcut."

"Good," said Hogan, glancing around at his men. "Let's move out."


	3. Welcome to the Home by the Seine

Once the flashlights had been obtained, the crew followed LeBeau as he led them to the house where he had spent so many of his weekends in his youth. Since the war ended, he had only been here a handful of times; looking at the house's dilapidated state was too painful, and the family did not have the money to go ahead with restoring it. Never once had he tried to go inside; he usually stood outside the front gates. But now he led his friends through the grounds, where weeds had grown over the front pathway.

LeBeau sighed at the ruined lawn, which had been lush and green before the war, but was now withered and brown, and then glanced at the house. Ivy had overrun the walls, with cracks visible in the façade where the ivy left gaps. There wasn't a single window that wasn't shattered. The window shutters were broken, some hanging precariously over the ground by one rusted hinge.

"Not only is the fortune gone, but the place has become uninhabitable," he said, sadly. He placed a hand on one of the metal side rails of the front steps. With a protesting creak, the rail fell to the ground, and LeBeau withdrew his hand as though he had been bitten.

"I'm sure all it needs is a little fixing up," said Carter, trying to cheer him up. "Just a little bit of renovation, maybe a new coat of paint, and it'll be as good as new."

Newkirk bit back the urge to tell Carter to be quiet while LeBeau just gave another wan smile, saying nothing as he unlocked the front door, which was, through some act of mercy, still on its hinges.

Hogan let out a low whistle as they entered, and as their flashlight beams illuminated small patches of the interior. An uneven carpet of dust covered the walls, floors, and everything inside, but numerous sets of footprints and handprints were visible in the dust.

"Holy cats," Kinch murmured, as he caught sight of the dust-covered drapes that led to the drawing room. They had been so delicately embroidered and detailed, but were now strewn with cobwebs; one even had a gash in the fabric, caused, perhaps, by a looter trying to see if anything had been hidden within the drapes. He crossed to the other end of the hall, to the door that led to the library. He left the door open so as to hear what was going on with the others.

LeBeau muttered something in French as he stooped to pick up a large decorative vase that had been tossed aside by the looters, which now sported a few cracks. It wasn't particularly valuable—which was most likely why it had been left behind. Baker helped him place it back to its original position by the door as a mouse leaped from the vase's mouth, startled by the sudden intrusion.

Newkirk, who had traversed forward into the drawing room, paused as he trained his flashlight to a portrait of two people above the fireplace.

"You reckon this portrait is worth anything?" he asked.

LeBeau crossed to the drawing room to take a look at what Newkirk had found.

"_Non_; that was a portrait of _grand-père_ and _grand-mère_ that was done by a family friend," he explained. "That artist was an odd, reclusive sort of person; I only met him once when I was very young, and that, too, by accident—he seemed upset that I had seen him."

"Sounds light a right madman, if you ask me," said Newkirk. "I bet 'e was one of those eccentric artists."

"Maybe he was," said Carter, staring nervously at the portrait. "But, in any case, I think the painting's eyes are following us!"

"Carter, it's a given that all old houses have portraits with eyes that seem to follow you," Hogan replied. "But reminding everyone of the reason why we're here, we need to find a clue from LeBeau's grandfather."

"Assuming there is one," Baker said. He didn't want to think too much about the option that the Germans had found the clue and gotten rid of it, trying to figure it out for themselves.

"I'm still willing to believe that he would leave a clue in a place that was well hidden, but in a place where his descendants could easily find it," Hogan went on.

"All that's down on this floor is this drawing room, the library, the dining room, and the kitchens," said LeBeau. "I cannot think of any possible hiding places here, other than the library and possibly the vases—which have already been searched."

"Right, so what's upstairs?" Newkirk asked.

"A sitting room, the guest rooms, _grand-père_'s study, the master bedroom--"

"Those last two might be the most likely places to find something," Hogan said. "But all the same, I think we should do a quick look through the rooms down here."

"There's no point in looking in the library," Kinch said, having just returned from there. "Not a single one of those books is on the shelf; they looked through each one in case there was a hidden pocket cut into the pages."

An inspection of the ravaged dining room and kitchen turned up nothing, save for more evidence of the thorough search that the intruders had undertaken. LeBeau took note that none of the family silver was accounted for; he could only hope that his grandfather had been just as thorough when he had heard that the German invasion was inevitable.

The Heroes divided their efforts as they searched upstairs; Hogan and Kinch made quick searches through the guest rooms while Newkirk and Carter searched through the master bedroom, paying more attention to details. LeBeau and Baker were looking through the contents of the viscount's study. As with the library, the books had been pulled off the shelves and scattered across the room, and the contents of the desk were a mess.

"Aside from the district responsibilities that he was working on, there doesn't seem to be much of anything else other than these books and papers on ancient Egypt," said Baker, trying to sort through the disorganized pile.

"_Grand-père_ had a great fascination for ancient Egypt," LeBeau said. "He once founded an expedition. It was quite successful; there's one piece in the Egyptian exhibit of the Louvre because of that expedition. He didn't want to bring the treasure back—he sought a requisition for one piece specifically for the Louvre, while the remainder of the treasures stayed in Egypt—and he took that single piece only after a great deal of personal debate. _Grand-père_ didn't believe in taking other people's treasures." He clenched a fist. "Why, then, have people tried to take _his_ money?"

"Your grandfather was a decent man," Baker answered. "That sort has always been in short supply."

LeBeau looked back at Baker, grateful for his kind words. But an annoyed exclamation from Newkirk halted whatever train of thought he had been concentrating on.

"Cor blimey, Carter! You just 'ad to do that, didn't you!?"

This brought everyone to the master bedroom in time to see Newkirk on the floor, rubbing his head as he glared at the American sergeant. Carter was sheepishly standing with an odd music box in one hand and his Venus flytrap in the other. The music box was running, with a little monkey on the box playing the cymbals.

"What happened?" Hogan asked, with a roll of his eyes.

"I found that music box under the bed," Newkirk said. "There are some things under 'ere—nothing of value, though. I put that thing aside, and Carter sees it 'is duty to set that thing off when it's right next to me ear; 'e nearly give me a bloomin' 'eart attack!" He glared at Carter again. "I 'it me 'ead on the base of the bed after 'e gave me that start."

"I didn't think this old thing would still work," Carter said, with an innocent shrug of his shoulders. "But at least we know it does now!"

"Right," said Newkirk, with a very forced smile. "Me 'eart is filled with a deep sense of satisfaction at that knowledge."

"Carter, may I see that?" LeBeau asked. He inspected the music box; he had seen this countless times as a child. He had often wondered where his grandparents had obtained it from; there was something mysterious about the old music box that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

He turned the box over, blinking as he noticed a small panel cut into the side of the base. At first glance, it looked like the panel that led to the mechanics of the box, but there was a larger panel on the bottom of the box, which was the true mechanics panel.

He slid open the side panel of the music box, letting out an exclamation as the flashlight beam gleamed against something golden.

"What is it?" Carter asked, pleased that he had played a small part in finding it.

"_Grand-père_ and _grand-mère_'s rings," LeBeau replied, his voice quivering with excitement. He took the rings out, holding them in his palms for the others to see. "They're solid gold!"

"Well, it's definitely a start," said Kinch.

"They look like Egyptian signet rings," Baker observed, surprised at how interested the viscount seemed to have been with the ways of the ancient Egyptians.

LeBeau nodded. "He had their names engraved in cartouches on the rings, see?"

Before anyone could comment on the rings, a loud, discordant set of piano notes emitted from the sitting room.

"I doubt that's a player piano," said Hogan, frowning.

"I didn't touch that piano!" Carter insisted, thinking that Newkirk would somehow pin it on him. "I didn't even know there was one up here!"

"Somebody does," the Frenchman said, leading the way to the sitting room.

The piano continued to play, but there was no one visible in the room when the soldiers aimed their flashlights all around it.

"LeBeau?" asked Carter. "Did your grandparents ever mention to you that there may have been a ghost in this house?"

Without waiting for LeBeau to reply, Newkirk strode forward towards the piano, aiming his flashlight inside of it. He gave a satisfied nod as he reached inside with his free hand.

"Andrew, 'ere is the 'ghost' you are referring to."

He pulled a sleek, black cat from within the piano. The flashlight shined off of the cat's reflective eyes as she looked up at Newkirk and meowed in protest.

"You can let her go," Baker said, amused. "Maybe she can catch that mouse we saw in the vase downstairs."

Newkirk shrugged and put the cat down, who promptly retreated to a dark corner of the room. Turning his attention back to the piano, he noticed that there were a few blank sheets of music on the stand, although one had a few musical notes written in ink.

"That's odd," LeBeau murmured. "_Grand-père_ wasn't much of a composer; it was _grand-mère_ who loved music. And yet, this is in _grand-père_'s handwriting."

"Maybe that's why he didn't get further than one measure," Carter said, pointing to the four notes at the top of the only page with writing on it. On a whim, he played the four notes on the piano.

"Doesn't sound like it would've turned into much," Newkirk said, flatly.

But Hogan seemed intrigued. "Carter, play those notes again."

The sergeant shrugged, but did as he was told.

Hogan softly hummed the notes to himself, pondering over them. Newkirk was right—musically, they didn't seem like much. But maybe music wasn't the purpose of those notes. "Can I see that sheet?"

"I'm telling you, there's nothing special about it," Newkirk said, handing it to him. "I've 'eard better music played by a child on a toy xylophone."

"Let's see," Hogan mused. "C, an A, an F, and an E…"

LeBeau's eyes widened. "_Café_!"

"Wow!" Carter exclaimed, looking at the sheet. "Yep, that's C-A-F-E, alright!"

"Blimey, that 'ad me going," Newkirk said, now impressed. "LeBeau, your grandfather may not 'ave been a musician, but 'e was a ruddy genius!"

"_Colonel_, this is it!" LeBeau said, excitement peppering his voice. "This is the clue we've been searching for!"

"And we can thank that cat for it," Hogan said. "The question is, LeBeau, do you have a pretty good idea of which café he might have been referring to?"

"_Oui, Colonel_," said LeBeau, fervently. "There was a café we always went to whenever the family got together; it's right near the--"

"Colonel!" Kinch suddenly exclaimed.

The others turned to see him and Baker kneeling on the floor near the cat. The two techies had focused their flashlights on the cat, who was now happily pawing at a wire that was running across the floor. Kinch further indicated one end of the wire—and the listening device that was attached to it.

LeBeau's mouth dropped open in horror as he realized that whoever had set the bug—Burkhalter, most likely—had heard them talk about the café clue. He was now incredibly grateful to Kinch for stopping him before he had revealed the specifics of the café. Exchanging glances with his friends, who were just as stunned as he was, he then looked back to the colonel for guidance.

Hogan mouthed for them to cover up the silence as best they could. Mentally, he was chiding himself for not taking into consideration that the German invaders would have wired the place in the hopes of picking up the clues they couldn't find on their own.

_Ironic_, he thought, derisively. _During the war, _we_ bugged _them_. I guess this is what they mean by "turnabout is fair play."_

"It… it's nothing, Kinch," said LeBeau, trying not to betray the nervousness in his voice. "That's Aunt Sybille's collection of costume jewelry—it's very cheap. She was always too shy about wearing the real things."

"Too bad," said Kinch, trying to make it seem as though it was nothing. "I thought I was on to something."

Hogan didn't hold much hope that they were fooling anyone; most likely, the entire house had bugs everywhere. The eavesdroppers probably knew everything that had transpired so far—including the finding of the golden rings.

"We've got the clue; let's go," he muttered, barely audible to those standing next to him. They could discuss the clue's significance in a more secure location.

Newkirk, however, had been trying to trace the other end of the wire, which ran past the broken window in the room. As he passed by, he happened to glance outside, and then froze.

"Colonel," he said, softly. "I 'ate to say it, but our sticky wicket just got stickier."

The others crossed to the window now as Newkirk continued to stare pointedly at the car that had pulled up to the front of the property. The moonlight illuminated the forms inside the vehicle, and the rotund silhouette stepping into the Parisian night air was unmistakable.

"What now, Colonel?" Carter whispered, none too happy about seeing Burkhalter again.

Hogan didn't answer; he was quickly trying to pull together as many possible plans as he could.

_What now, indeed?_


End file.
